Soap
by Alone in the Desert
Summary: The meandering thoughts of a teenager's identity crisis, as reflected upon in the Winding Circle bathhouses. One-shot, very D've


Soap 

_Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me. _

The bathhouses of Winding Circle were usually crowded, a favorite haunt for the hard-working dedicates and novices to relax, finding peace of mind among the clouds of fragrant steam. At this hour of the night, though, the baths were almost empty. There was space for a dozen in the large bathtub, but only one occupied it. A tall young woman lounged in it, long legs outstretched, head leaning back to spill dark threads of hair onto the ceramic tiles. Her eyes, wide and expressive, gazed mutely at the whitewashed ceiling.

In all honesty, she was relieved to be alone. It wasn't just that she enjoyed being so engrossed in her metal-craft that she didn't even notice the time. Years of living among the open-minded had made her comfortable with public bathing but still, sometimes she preferred to be alone. This was one such time. Her mind buzzed with disconcerting thoughts, and she needed a clear space to explore them quietly.

How strangely appropriate, she thought, that she should come to terms with something she'd known deep down for quite some time in this bathhouse, the symbol of all that her new life offered, all that her Trader life denied. Slowly she untied and unraveled her many braids, then reached for a jar of soap. She uncorked it and sniffed, enjoying the smell of lilies imbued in the hair soap by a talented mage, however frivolous it seemed. Working the pasty soap into her tightly curled hair, she sank neck-deep into the warm water.

She waited while the soap set into her hair. Little ripples ran over the surface of the bathwater, and she followed them with her eyes. She was avoiding the issue, she knew, and yet she continued to do so while she washed out her long black locks, then climbed out of the tub and went looking for a towel.

As she passed from the wet rooms to the dry ones, she caught a glimpse of herself in a large, square looking glass that hung over a wooden bench. She stopped, looked back, looked away, and finally turned to face the mirror. It was steamed over; she'd mistakenly left the door to the wet room open while she had her long bath. Running a hand over it she collected the steam, like pulling back the curtain of a vague, dark form to reveal the more detailed human figure beneath.

The figure she saw was tall and brawny, with wide hips and broad shoulders. She ran her hands down long thighs and heavily muscled shins, twined them through waterfalls of kinky black hair, and traced the features of her face: round cheeks, a broad and flat nose under a high brow, and the boys' favorite, a pair of full, dark lips. Her fingers tickled down her neck, feeling the flex of muscle under her skin. As she turned slightly to try and see her profile her hand fluttered lower, brushing the side of one breast.

It occurred to her that she wasn't quite sure what it meant to be a woman. Was it just this flesh that made her one, with its breasts and its menstruation? Was it something that could be affected by physical labor and the strength of body it required? Could it be defined by the clothing and artifices meant to attract men? No, she knew that was not it; it was not an interest in males that would make her female. Absently she wiped a bit of soap that remained on her cheek, deep in thought.

She ought not to let what others thought bother her so much, she knew. Or rather, that was what her sister would say if she brought her odd new concern to her. _You do as you see fit_, she'd say, _and may all others be damned_. Easier in words than practice, she thought. What _would_ people think?

Her family, were still among the living, would say that it was a product of her smith craft. How could she expect to mature into a well-adjusted, productive woman after spending her youth as a _lugsha_? If she didn't know her duty well enough to find herself a respectable living, she could hardly be expected to start a family as she ought. Yes, that is what they would think, and they would not shrink away from speaking their thoughts aloud. Her mother especially had very specific ideas of family obligations. She would not abide the idea of her eldest child not bringing children of her own into the world.

Her teachers would not bat an eyelash, and her closest friends would surely not mind. They'd been reared in the Living Circle's philosophy, and were far more open-minded about such things than most Traders she knew. Privately, they might think things they do not express, like the jets of thoughts surging through her own mind, this night. It seemed inevitable that the same ideas would occur to them whether or not they were too kind to voice them. More than once she'd been mistaken for a male, especially when she was younger. With her recently developed chest her figure had changed just enough to make actual mistakes rare. Wicked words were still cast at her sometimes. Unlike her forbearing siblings she took these to heart.

Despairing of the useless circles her mind ran in, she abandoned the mirror and went to get dressed. Eventually, she would overcome her fear and tell her friends that she preferred girls. Nothing said she had to do it today.


End file.
